


It's Only a Matter of Time

by MissWoodhouse



Series: History of Magic [4]
Category: American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus, Canon Era, Duelling, F/M, NOT a Hogwarts AU, Time Turner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-08 07:32:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5488871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissWoodhouse/pseuds/MissWoodhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander Hamilton is armed with a time turner and a quill.  Eliza is displeased.  Burr is baffled.  Hamilton is still non-stop.</p><p>Added:</p><p>Chapter 2 - In which Hamilton and the tomcat are one and the same.</p><p>Chapter 3 - A reflection on the differences between muggle and wizarding duels.</p><p>***No one dies onstage, as it were, but deaths are kind of implied in the dueling section (because, history).  I didn’t want to archive warn the whole thing over that, though, so I’ll put a warning at the top of the chapter.  Chapters 1 and 2 are completely safe and happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Only a Matter of Time

**Author's Note:**

> Because I’ve been listening to the Hamilton cast recording on repeat since September. And because really, a time turner is the only plausible explanation for his volume of writing. I’m still not convinced Lin-Manuel Miranda isn’t using one as well.

Alexander Hamilton did not even look up from his desk when the study door creaked open and a figure in white entered the outer reaches of his peripheral vision.

“Alexander, how long has it been since the last time you slept?”

He glanced up at the clock, and continued writing. “It’s only just after one. Eliza, my dearest, even you cannot suggest that I am awake too late when it has been scarcely more than a half dozen hours since the sun rose and you allowed me out of bed.” 

“I may not be as well read as my sister, Alexander, but I do have some measure of intelligence.” Alexander discovered that his inkwell was no longer in its place on the desk; now Eliza had caught his attention: “I’m not interested in how far the hands on the clock have moved since daybreak.  I’d like to know how many hours straight you’ve been working with the help of that infernal device of yours.”

“I flipped back from around supper time to eight o’clock this morning.”

“And was that before or after eating supper?”

Alexander swallowed and returned his gaze – and his now inkless pen – to the papers on his desk.

“Then I suppose you haven’t properly eaten in more than a day either, since the Lord knows you cannot be trusted to break for a wholesome dinner while you’re at the office.  I’ll be taking this,” she held up the inkwell, “into the dining room, and you shall have it back after you’ve joined me for a meal.”

\---

 

Alexander Hamilton wore a pocket watch. Burr knew this for a fact, because the chain stuck reliably out of Hamilton’s waistcoat every day.  But he never used it.  He preferred to put on his glasses and read a clock across the room or the square, than to take out his pocket watch.  Once, when Hamilton was worried the clock in his office was running slow, he asked Burr to check it against his own timepiece.  In Hamilton’s office!

He surmised that Hamilton carried the watch around as a memento, belonging to his absent father or a friend from the war (John Laurens, perhaps), and that it must no longer work properly. If Hamilton would only show it to him, Bur had offered, he might be able to recommend a good clockmaker, who could repair it.  Hamilton declined.

\---

 

The one benefit of Alexander’s infernal hourglass, Eliza supposed, was that she didn’t need to reign in her anger for much longer. Once she delivered this bowl of broth, she could leave the Alexander who had just been brought home from the office to sleep and recuperate while she gave the Alexander who had been in the house all day the yelling at that he so sorely deserved.

Or at least, that’s what she thought until she saw the empty bed.  Her husband was ridiculous. What sort of fool, when he has the ability to magically turn back as many hours of the day as he pleases, would choose to do so before taking a nap instead of after?  One whose mental facilities have been exhausted by lack of sleep, apparently.  Eliza would never understand why her husband persisted in writing like he was running out of time, when time, for him, could be so flexible.

\---

 

Fifty-one!  Alexander Hamilton had written fifty-one of the Federalist Papers, over the past six months.  And taken on more law cases than Burr.  And spoken non-“anonymously” in support of the Constitution, besides.

Of course, this shouldn’t surprise Burr. It’s confirmation more than anything else – hadn’t he been able to pick Hamilton’s many essays out of the set as he read them?  But the aggregate number is astounding.  How on earth does that man find the hours in the day?

 ---

 

Eliza returned from the window. “Mister Burr is at the door, you’ll have to move to your study.” 

Alexander turned a page of his newspaper. “And why on earth should Aaron Burr’s presence require my removal?”

“Was Burr at his office today?”

“I’d assume so.  He might have stopped by mine at some point.  I think he wanted to discuss a case, but I really didn’t have the time.”

“So you don’t think he might find it strange that a man he probably just saw buried in papers at the office is now sitting at home in the parlor, reading the paper with his wife?” Eliza tried to snatch the newspaper away.

“Hey,” Alexander snatched it back, but folded closed in some measure of conciliation.  “It’s important to read what the Antifederalists are writing, so I can properly refute it.”

“More to the point, it’s important that no one realizes you can be in two places at once!  Unless Burr’s an exception to your magical secrecy statute for reasons I’m unaware of?”

“I will be in my study then, making no noise and pretending I don’t exist.”  Alexander put his hand on the doorknob. 

“Other door.”

“Right, that one’s visible from the hall.” He crossed to the back of the room, giving Eliza a peck on the cheek on his way.  “Where would I be without you?”

“Discovered, for one thing. Now shoo!”

There was a knock at the front parlor door, and the maid peeked in.  “Mr. Burr to see you ma’am, sir.  Shall I let him in?”

“I would be happy to receive him. Mr. Hamilton, however, is not at home.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  She bobbed a curtsey as Alexander left the room through the other door. Eliza laughed a small sigh and prepared to greet her guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is a Hamilton lyric, from "Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story." I referenced lyrics in a couple of other places too.


	2. The Tomcat, Wooing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alexander and the tomcat are one and the same.
> 
> These vignettes are all set during the early part of 1780, when Washington made his headquarters in Morristown, New Jersey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of Hamilton with magic wouldn’t leave me alone, so here’s another chapter. As in the previous one, I’ve tried as well as I can to be accurate to both the historical fact and the events of the musical.

Amongst all the ridiculous fabrications of the British pamphlet, they had managed to get one thing right, or almost. There _was_  a tomcat that could be frequently found around headquarters, and Martha Washington _did_  refer to it by the name of Alexander Hamilton.

\----

“I’m not sure if you’re aware, Mr. Hamilton, but men and cats leave two very different sorts of footprints in the snow.”

The rather disheveled looking tomcat ceased its pacing to look up at Martha Washington with an expression of pure fear in its eyes and a motion that might have been a gulp in the white fur of his throat.

“Don’t worry, I obscured them a bit as I followed your path, so I don’t think anyone else will see. But next time, you’d be wise to exercise a bit more caution in where you choose to transform. Or at least rub out some of the footprints with your tail.”

The cat had the good grace to look at least a little bashful at this.

“I do believe I’m rather enjoying this. It may well be the first conversation anyone’s had with you at this house where all the talking has not been yours.”

The cat gave a pointed sounding “mreow” in response.

“Well, if you’re not enjoying the one sided lecture I supposed you’ll just have to change yourself back then, won’t you?”

The cat stalked off behind the nearest tree and evolved rather rapidly into a human male, more specifically one Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton.

“Mrs. Washington.” His stiff bow was really only the slightest of nods, but she’d take it.

“Mr. Hamilton. How kind of you to rejoin us in the realm of the ordinary.” Martha may not have had any children with George, but she was an experienced mother from her first marriage, and was well skilled in the art of gentle chastisement. “Sulking as a cat really is a new one for me. My son had the good grace to outgrow such displays of melancholy by the time he began his study of animagi.”

“Your son?” Hamilton’s face lit up, with the question.

“Yes. My first husband was of the magical world, and our children inherited his abilities.”

His discontented, restless energy from before was now focused and excited. “And the General?”

“No.” With one word from her, the bubble popped, and Alexander’s face drooped again. “And I am not a witch, and they are not his children, so it would be a violation of the Secrecy Statute for him to be made aware.” Her voice took on a commanding quality that quietly echoed her husband’s. “See to it that you do not make him so. Through either your carelessness or your ambition.”

Alexander exploded with energy once more. “But if only I could let him know, then surely, he would see that a wizard on the battlefield could be…”

“Very dangerous for our new nation. The statute was put into effect less than a century ago, for good reason, and partially due to the strong anti-magic sentiment on our own shores. The international magical community are determined to be very strict in its enforcement and were our army to flout it, Britain would have good claim to call on all the world’s wizards as their allies.”

“But…” Hamilton was always ready to argue.

“Be patient, be discrete in your use of magic, and enjoy the fact that you are at liberty this winter to court General Schuyler’s daughter.”

\----

The winter of 1779-1780 was the coldest in record for Morristown, and the second time that General Washington had chosen the city as his winter headquarters. It also held the distinction of being the winter that one could see a particular tomcat, coat sleeker than might be expected from your standard stray or rat-catcher, making the regular half-mile trek between Ford’s Mansion where Washington and his aides were quartered, and a house in town where one Elizabeth Schulyer was staying with her aunt and uncle.

\----

Alexander’s first trip to visit Eliza in the form of a cat started out as perfectly respectable and purely practical. No one could deny that this winter was cold, and Hamilton, having grown up in the Caribbean was even less enthused by the temperature than most – although one would think that seven years would have given him plenty of time to acclimate. Traveling the half-mile as a cat, therefore, afforded him a warm fur coat, a realization he came to and put into practice mid-walk one day.

The trouble, if you could call it that, began when Alexander arrived in the neighborhood, and discovered that in this more populous part of town, it was difficult to find a hidden place to transform himself back. Eventually, he decided there was nothing for it, he’d have to use the outhouse, and hope none of Eliza’s relatives noticed that he came out without going in. Eliza, however, saw him on his way across the yard and, because Alexander was a clean and well-groomed cat – at least at those times when he was a clean and well-groomed human, rather than frantically unkempt in the middle of his work – came over to pet the friendly looking creature.

“Oh, and who are you, handsome fellow?” Eliza bent down some three feet away from Alexander-the-cat and gently reached out a hand in invitation to him.

And Alexander couldn’t ignore her, could he? That would just be rude. So he came up to her and nuzzled his head against her hand.

“Hello there. You’re a sweet little fellow, aren’t you?”

She moved her hand to stroke along his side.

“Ooh, you’re a skinny thing. I suppose the mice are all tucked away and rather difficult to find this time of year. And which of the neighbors do you belong to?”

He brushed against her skirts as she pet him, and she laughed.

“Well, not to me, that’s for certain! I don’t think I could forget a cat with eyes like yours. So piercing! Rather like my Alexander’s eyes in fact. Oh cat, he’s the most wonderful man, I’m sure you’d agree with me if you met him. He should be here soon, so I’ll tell you what: if you wait here, I’ll go in to fetch a bowl of milk for you, and by the time I get back, I’ll be able to introduce Alexander to you.”

As exciting as the prospect was of being introduced to himself, Alexander decided that the prudent thing to do was to change himself back while Miss Schulyer was distracted inside. No time to bother with going inside the outhouse, he ducked behind it for some shelter and became himself again.

When Eliza emerged with the saucer of milk, her face brightened at the sight of him, then grew disappointed when she discovered that the cat had gone. Alexander found it both amusing and endearing to hear Eliza’s thoughts on his human-self while a cat and then his cat-self while a man. What harm could it do to repeat the encounter? After all, Eliza was so very eager to see the cat again, and it allowed them an intimacy that would not have otherwise been allowed under the watchful eye of her chaperones.

\----

There are many stories, in Morristown, about the origins of the name Fort Nonsense, which was built overlooking the town by the Continental army in the spring of 1777. The most popular legend claimed that Washington had ordered the building of the fort, which was never in fact used, simply as an exercise to keep the men busy at the end of a long winter. A more obscure story, however, relates to nonsense that is said to have occurred at the fort when Washington’s troops returned in the winter of ’79 and ’80. In the spring of that year, it is said, the Marquis de Lafayette, freshly returned from France, was seen chasing around the fort after a cat. Or perhaps it was after Alexander Hamilton. The accounts differ.

\----

After delivering the good news of French aid to General Washington, and also delivering his own personal good news of a healthy young son named after the good general, Lafayette sought out a rendezvous with the General’s aides-de-camp, including his good friend Alexander Hamilton. Hamilton and several of the other aides had been with Washington not only through this winter, but during the previous encampment in Morristown as well, and brought him on a tour of the sights. That Arnold’s Tavern, on the Green, had been used as the previous headquarters was always a fine excuse to go drinking there.

Sometime during the evening, it was decided that Lafayette must absolutely be shown the views from the Upper Redoubt atop Kinney’s Hill. Alexander and Lafayette split off to do so, and the rest of the party returned to headquarters at Mrs. Ford’s mansion.

Alexander led the way, as they climbed the hill. “They were building this the spring I first joined Washington’s staff. It was meant to be a fall back point in case the British came near the encampment, but its too far from Jockey Hollow or the Headquarters to be of any use this time around. Some of the men have taken to calling it Fort Nonsense, out of spite for having had to build it, I think. The view is incredible though. When its clear you can see all the way to New York City.”

“That’s wonderful Alexander, but in case it has escaped your notice it’s growing darker by the minute.” Lafayette grumbled, “Will we be able to see anything at all by the time we reach the top?”

“There’s still enough light, we’re almost there.”

When they reached to top, Lafayette found the view was stunning, even through the deep blue twilight. “Wow. You weren’t kidding.”

“I told you. Although, I’ll admit, in the evening, the view’s a little better like this.” Alexander turned himself into a cat and smirked up at Lafayette. Then, quick as lightning, he darted to the edge of the redoubt.

“Your magical night vision’s no fair, Alexander.” Lafayette followed. “The rest of us don’t have cats’ eyes!” Could cats wink? If so, he was sure Alexander did, before taking off again as Lafayette approached him. Laughing, he chased after the tomcat, yelling his friend’s name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m from not too far outside of Morristown, so it was really fun to get to include some actual details of the local history (even if Google had to help me with most of them). The Continental army wintered near Morristown, NJ twice: in and very near the town in early 1777 and then at Jockey Hollow in 1779/1780. Hamilton did join Washington’s staff in the spring of ’77, which would have been while the army was still encamped in Morristown, although Lafayette and Laurens joined later that year. Fort Nonsense is a real place that was built that spring, and the first legend about the name’s origins is an actual (if untrue) rumor. And the view from there on a clear day really is gorgeous.
> 
> The winter of 1779/1780 actually was the coldest on record for Morristown in at least a century, and was colder than the winter spent at Valley Forge, although the army had gotten better at protecting itself from the elements, so there were fewer casualties. Both Hamilton and Martha Washington did stay at Ford’s Mansion, where Washington made his headquarters, that winter, and Hamilton’s courtship with Eliza occurred while she stayed in town with her aunt and uncle that winter as well. There is also a statue in the Morristown Green commemorating the fact that Lafayette came to Morristown in the Spring of 1780 to deliver the news to Washington (and Hamilton, who is also part of the statue) that France would provide aid.
> 
> The story of Martha Washington naming a tomcat after Alexander Hamilton appears to have originated in a defamatory British pamphlet, also dating to sometime around the winter at Morristown. Both of the other cat legends, however, I made up for the story.


	3. Shooting Sparks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton reflects on the differences between muggle and wizarding duels.
> 
> Warning: Implied OFFSTAGE DEATHS in this chapter, because duels and history. I mean I fade to black, so I guess you could pretend things end differently, but I didn’t write a fix-it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because there’s only so much you can write about Hamilton without having to address the sad stuff too.

Hamilton was happy to be Laurens' second, would have been happy to challenge Lee himself, but there was a…delicate…subject still to be broached. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been involved in his fair share of duels, because he had. He’d just never participated in a muggle one before.

 

“So, how exactly does this work, then?” John snorted a laugh at Hamilton and shot him a questioning look. “I’m being serious. I haven’t done this _your_ way before.”

 

“You mean wizards…?” Laurens lit up with curiosity, always game to hear more about his friend’s hidden life.

 

“Use wands, yes.” Alexander thought that much would be obvious. “And you use rapiers, but the particular rules of engagement must have differences, for instance…”

 

“Alex,” John cut him off, “no one has used swords in a duel for years.”

 

“Then what do you use?”

 

“Guns,” John replied, as if it were obvious.

 

“But where’s the skill in that?” Hamilton couldn’t believe these muggles.

 

“Aim.”

 

“But the thrill of the fight, the back and forth, the rush!” Alexander did not add: the opportunity to inflict reasonably minor pain and shame, and to gloat about it afterwards, of course. It couldn’t be much fun to gloat over someone who was dead. You just wanted him incapacitated, embarrassed, and completely at your mercy.

 

“I think you’ll find there’s still quite a thrill, said John, “That moment where you don’t know if you’ll hit your mark, or if he will. It’s the same as in battle.”

 

“Yes, and we’ve all seen how you react to getting shot there.”

 

“As if you’d be any different.”

 

“Well, we’d see if the General would just let me…” Duels forgotten, Alexander was ready to launch into another tirade about how unfair it was of Washington to deny him a command.

 

“Anyway,” John pulled things back on subject, because he had that particular diatribe memorized, and didn’t care to hear it again. “I’ll be the one shooting, since Washington has expressly forbidden you, and you can watch the whole thing play out, and see how its done. Your job when you meet with Lee’s second is to arrange a time and place and to keep the coward from wiggling out of it without a full and demeaning public apology.”

 

\---

 

Alexander’s eldest son stood in his office, practically shaking in fear.

 

“Phillip, calm down. You shoot some sparks at the guy – just _not_ green ones – and you’ve defended your honor and you go home. Throw in a tickling curse if you really feel you’ve got to do something. No one shoots an unforgivable right off the bat, and once he sees you aren’t using force he’ll follow suit. Maybe he hits you with a stunner if he’s feeling aggressive.”

 

“It’s…not that kind of duel, Pops.” It was frustrating, sometimes, the way Phillip talked around a subject, as he worked up the nerve to confront it head on. Oh, he always got there eventually, and made a strong case, but he had a poet’s skill with words, not a politician’s.

 

“What do you mean, son? If you’re that concerned, surely your seconds can at the least work out an agreement about what spells are allowable. Even when the matter of a duel cannot be settled, the terms can.” Alexander spoke from much experience as both dueler and second.

 

“It’s not with wands.” At Phillip’s words, Alexander buried his face in his hands. When he did not raise it, Phillip continued, “I’m sorry, Pops. I forgot that it wasn’t like at school. I just forget, sometimes, that everyone’s not like us, and by the time I remembered that he was a muggle, I’d already challenged him, and I didn’t know what to do; I couldn’t back down.” He paused. “Pops, they use _guns_.”

 

Alexander took a deep breath and raised his head, “Alright, so this is what you’re gonna do…”

 

\---

 

At one point in his life, Alexander Hamilton would have given anything to see Aaron Burr engage in duel, instead of engaging in discouraging one. Just to see him take so firm a stand on anything would be worth it, but if watching the man in court was impressive, a duel would be beautiful. Burr was succinct and persuasive, always knowing what to say, where and how to strike, and what shields to put up (sometimes, nothing beat the power of a good Protego and knowing when in your opponent’s pattern was the right time to let it down and switch to a single offensive blow). To watch from the sidelines as the master strategizer utterly destroyed his opponent with clever spellwork.

 

But no, Burr wasn’t a wizard, wasn’t his friend anymore, and Alexander would have to answer to his challenge with pistols.

 

But he couldn’t help giving in to the fantasy, the idea of matching wands with Aaron, revealed at last to be a wizard. (And why not? He was so good at hiding so many other things.) Shooting jinxes at each other, working out years of building frustrations because Burr refused to take a firm enough position to argue any of their differences out.

 

Failing that, swords would have been nice, but Laurens had called them archaic, and that was decades ago. So it would be guns, at Weehawken. Alexander steeled himself.

 

When that fateful dawn came, he stuck his wand in his pocket, just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know wizarding duels definitely can be deadly, but you could also have a Draco and Harry style duel and shoot sparks at each other like a pair of first years, or really anywhere in between. Guns just seem so much more definitively murderous. And I know Hogwarts isn’t exactly the gold standard when it comes to safety regulations, but they had a Dueling Club at Hogwarts, and let second years participate. Plus, wasn’t Flitwick supposed to be a dueling champion or something, and I can’t see him killing people just for the hell of it, so I figured muggle and magical attitudes toward dueling might differ a bit. And once I’d given Hamilton a time turner and made him an animagus, I had to let him write a few hundred words on the subject. If you give a mouse a cookie…

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [With Great Power](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6835846) by [beware_the_lafayeti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beware_the_lafayeti/pseuds/beware_the_lafayeti)




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